De Ce Monde Secret de l’ Amelie Americaine

part two

The restaurant he chose was crowded. We met and there was a tentative kiss on the lips. He quickly decided that we should probably try to find some place else and we left.

He crossed Broadway five paces ahead of me. I couldn’t keep up in four inch heels. He didn’t seem to be aware that the polite thing to do if he didn’t want to hold hands would be to at least stay by my side.

We had two choices that were close by: sushi restaurant where we could have easily gotten a table and the prices were reasonable, or a pricey Italian restaurant next door. I let him make the decision. He chose the later.

He said,” Order whatever you like.” Then he ordered us both a glass of wine.

I was curious and I had to ask, “So why did you ask me to the opera?”

He looked at me with a blank expression on his face.

“What I mean is, I’ve been wanting to go for awhile and I wonder where you got the idea?”

“It was meant to be, then.” He smiled.

I was confused. Was he avoiding the question?

“Did you read my blog by any chance?” I asked.

“Oh no, I don’t have time for those things.” He winced.

I was crestfallen. “Well then what gave you the idea to ask me?”

“Well my friend Sara went back to Europe early when she got a job offer. I originally bought the tickets for us.”

“Oh!” I smiled, when really I wanted to poke my fork into his eye.

The waiter came back to our table. I let him order for me, and I began to gulp my glass of wine. If you want to impress a woman you should say things that will make her feel special. Telling her that she was your second choice of an evening companion and that you have no time to read her thoughts online, is not the strategy to use to impress her.

I continued to ask questions. I don’t want him to hear the anger in my voice, so I let him talk about himself. Which most men are happy to do. It is also a great way, to get at the truth of a situation. Usually a guy, if he’s a smuck will hang himself within ten minutes. I’ve timed it before. Tonight was no exception.

Let’s put it this way, even though Sara left early, there is another “female friend” coming in from Austria next week. I laughed my way through the conversation, while underneath it all I was too shocked to properly respond.

It is not the usual cliche moaning about dating more than one person at a time. I will often schedule a couple of first dates in the same week. But if a situation is progressing, then I don’t cling to other flirtations or flings. He left clues all over the place for the past few years that he really did genuinely like me. He even said so, when we first openly discussed what was going on over a few drinks one night after a show.

I got up from our table and excused myself. I took my purse and went to the woman’s bathroom. The door was locked. I took out my phone and called my best friend to gain moral support. I got her answering machine. After the beep I started to tell her machine my woes.

The woman behind me in line interrupted, “But honey who cares that the boy is an asshole, those shoes are gorgeous. I was looking at your outfit. You’re going to get a lot of use out of it.”

“You think so.” I looked up, grateful for the moral support of complete stranger.

“Absolutely, he’s not worth it.”

“Thank you. I composed myself and returned to the table.

Jason had already had my food removed from the table. I was far from done.

“I’m sorry you didn’t like your pasta,” He retorted.

“It was fine.” I stammered. “I wasn’t finished.”

The waiter came over. “Would you like anything else.”

“Cup of coffee,”Jason said.

“Another Pinto Grigio.” I retorted and then politely said to Jason. “Thank you for dinner”

He looked at me strangely and replied “I don’t want to insult you, but it is the norm for men and women to split the tab.”

“But I’m the girl.” I said. He had made no mention of this arrangement before. I had let him choose the restaurant, order the wine, the food. I recomposed myself, “Why don’t you give me the cash I will put it on my card. The waiter came over with the check. I gulped down my last bit of wine and handed him my credit card.

“$45 each we’ll split it, even though you had more wine.”

If I had put $90 on my credit card, then the waiters would have only received a $4 tip. Even I’m not that gross. I put a proper twenty percent tip on the tab, and we left the restaurant.

I wanted to put this behind me and enjoy the the fact that I was going to an elegant concert at the Metropolitan. Instead as I sat in my seat listening to the powerful music, I found myself crying, not because I was moved. I was crying because I was finally dressed like a princess in this beautiful, palatial theatre, and whole affair had been spoiled by a lousy date.

It seemed unfair, and I was bitter. I wanted to leave. There were times during the intermission that if I had more courage I would have got up and left. Instead I wanted until the end.

He lead me out into the foyer and told me to wait for him while he went to the restroom. Instead I found myself drifting with the crowd until I was in the elevator. Before I knew it I was in a cab using the cash he gave me for his half of the dinner to go back to Brooklyn. My phone rang. It was him. I answered it and then quickly hung up. He called back again and left a message.

I didn’t want him to think I had been kidnapped, so I called back.

“Where are you?” He asked.

“I kind of got pushed into the elevator. I’m already outside. Thank you for taking me to the Opera. It was beautiful.” He hadn’t picked me up from home, it was obvious that I was going to be fending for myself. And if we were just going to be casual friends and work colleagues then this should have worked. I was trying to politely end the evening as gracefully as possible.

“Well fuck you then!” He replied.

“That isn’t very nice.” I calmly replied and hung up the phone.

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